Life, stuff and thangshttps://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com
Anything that pops into my headSun, 18 Feb 2018 06:54:41 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://s2.wp.com/i/buttonw-com.pngLife, stuff and thangshttps://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com
Headaches and home buyinghttps://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/11/27/headaches-and-home-buying/
https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/11/27/headaches-and-home-buying/#respondThu, 27 Nov 2014 04:25:54 +0000http://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/?p=448We started down the dark path to home ownership last month.

First came the Queen Anne in need of a lot of work, starting with the description. Realtors need to know the difference between a walk out basement and a root cellar. Next was a Saltbox house with the “basement” that was really a hole under the house. I walked downstairs and thought “Is this what a grave smells like?” After that was the Tardis house; it was bigger on the inside. Generous sized bedrooms, two bathrooms, hardwood under the carpet. Drawbacks? Knob and tube wiring that was phased out in the ’30’s and the kitchen was designed by somebody who only made coffee. Last was the one with the weird basement. The ceiling in the laundry room was tall enough for my husband (6’2″) to stand up straight. In the other part of the basement I had to stoop over while walking around, and I’m a foot shorter than he is. We guessed the builders either got lazy and didn’t want to dig anymore, or they found a pathway to hell and poured concrete over it.

After a week the houses seem to blur together into doors, carpeting and faults. Antiquated wiring, tiny kitchens and carpet that smelled like dog urine.

Finally we found one that had been lovingly kept. No termites. New roof. Wiring that doesn’t predate Roosevelt’s administration. Let the games begin.

We made an offer. And waited. They counter offered. We discussed and fretted about finances. Then we made another offer, held our breath and waited on pins. Then they agreed! We danced for joy.

The next two weeks were a blur of activity. If I wasn’t driving to the realtors’ office to sign forms, I was sending texts or emails to the realtor, the loan officer and the home insurance agent. All three are now on speed dial.

One day the loan officer told me that a bank statement (that had been printed up at our bank) had to be stamped with an “official” seal. We just want to move. But buying a house involves a lot of official red tape that can’t be signed except on the fifth Thursday of the month but only if it doesn’t end in “y.”

The fly in our ointment is getting rid of our mobile home. We’re ready to give it away. If that doesn’t work, we’ll spend our tax refund on paying somebody to dismantle it for us.

Until we close the deal and get the keys, we practice patience.

]]>https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/11/27/headaches-and-home-buying/feed/0laurieredpenfieldsHouse buying bughttps://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/11/05/house-buying-bug/
https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/11/05/house-buying-bug/#respondWed, 05 Nov 2014 15:04:05 +0000http://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/?p=446We need a new house. Like “the kitchen ceiling is in danger of falling in if anything heavy falls on it.” The first time I heard a fat cat on the roof, I sprouted a new gray hair. Also, there’s a hole in the hall floor. (Two of the reasons I don’t want company over.) So we’re looking for a new place. Nothing big or fancy, just four walls and a roof. And a basement. And as few pesky covenants as possible. Seriously, is it anybody’s business but my own if I want to construct a glass tree in the yard made entirely of Jim Bean bottles? I don’t think so.

So why is house buying so complicated? Not only do they want money down (we have to borrow from my parents) but we have to pay “points.” What the heck are points?! In this game it sounds like points are something somebody else makes because I lose.

I feel like the money-loving part of my brain has been put through a meat grinder.

This is how I see it: you (seller) have a house to unload because it’s been on the market for almost a year because the original asking price was too high. I have money and need a place to live. Let’s make this as easy as possible; I hand over cash and you give me the deed.

Nuff said.

]]>https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/11/05/house-buying-bug/feed/0laurieredpenfieldsKid + Google Play = Financial problemshttps://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/10/02/kid-google-play-financial-problems/
https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/10/02/kid-google-play-financial-problems/#respondThu, 02 Oct 2014 13:59:25 +0000http://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/?p=441I balanced the checkbook this morning and found two purchases for Google Play at two bucks a pop. The kid has already been told that she has to ask to make a purchase. That conversation went in one of her ears and out the other without stopping.

When she gets home she’s going to pay. In more ways than one. First, she’s going to shake loose four bucks from her piggy bank. She tried throwing a fit the first time she was caught; I told her “the bill was run up, now the bill is due. Pay the bill.” Second–and I expect to see a mushroom cloud over the house when she hears it–she’s going to lose her phone for a few days.

Will she like it? No. She’s a teenager and doesn’t like anything; not me or rules or the weather. Will she learn from it? I truly hope so. But what lesson she takes away is up to her. She may think “if I do this, I’ll make Mom mad.” Not the lesson I want her to learn; actually I think she says that to make me feel guilty. Yeah, good luck with that.

]]>https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/10/02/kid-google-play-financial-problems/feed/0laurieredpenfieldsPicking favoriteshttps://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/10/02/picking-favorites/
https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/10/02/picking-favorites/#respondThu, 02 Oct 2014 01:31:23 +0000http://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/?p=438My husband and I live two hours away from our nearest relative. If you’ve ever met them, you know why. (Raise your hand if you have them in your family.) Their constant whining that life isn’t going their way. Complaining about “deadbeat” siblings and then going to Mom and Dad for a loan. Acting as if their arm is being cut off if they’re asked to lift a finger to help.

A couple of years ago we met a group of people who became our friends. We met their friends and their friends’ friends and now we’re all friends. Isn’t that sweet? But now I have a question: Do we see them as “better people” because they haven’t driven us to banging on their doors for a “come to Jesus meeting?” Do we like them better because they’re new and shiny and haven’t caused us to tear our hair out?

What will happen on the day they do? Will we be willing, ready and able to sever ties? Or will we reach out because we have less history with them?

Still. My mind has been still for months, thanks to Prozac and changing the way I think. I don’t feel a need to be perfect all the time. (There’s a time and place for it, along with everything else.) But something has set my mind off lately. I’ve been creative. I’ve written a scene for a fiction piece. I’m experimenting with writing a script. I’ve volunteered to be an extra in a play. I’m joining conversations.

Maybe I’ve been still too long and it’s time to move. A brain can’t be quiet forever.

Maybe I’m gaining faith in myself. About damn time.

Before I was diagnosed with depression my mind would spin like Dorothy’s twister. Touching this or that subject, but I couldn’t decide on any of them. Research? Writing? Cooking? Making a new dress for my daughter? I wanted to do all at once, but wasn’t still enough to do anything.

But sometimes when I’m still I can ignore things. Subjects show up, sit in an easy chair across from me and say “Well, I’m here!” I have to force myself to look at them. Answer their questions. Even putting myself under the microscope requires me to be still. Some subjects still hurt–like the Dark Ages of our marriage–and probably always will. Like a break that never heals right. Maybe it’s better than removing that limb?

I like having a still mind. At least it’s not in constant turmoil.

]]>https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/10/02/page-29/feed/0laurieredpenfieldsAs we all knowhttps://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/09/30/as-we-all-know/
https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/09/30/as-we-all-know/#commentsTue, 30 Sep 2014 00:04:27 +0000http://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/?p=432Remember in the last post I hinted my daughter didn’t want to have anything to do with me? That her idea of communication was an eye roll, shoulder shrug or the TGoE? (That’s Teenage Gasp of Exasperation.) Well, as we all know, things change. Especially with teenagers. Sometime in the wee small hours I was awakened to:

“Mommy!!!”

One thing about being a parent, there’s an expiration date on frustration. It’s at two in the morning when the kid screams your name.

“I had a nightmare. Zombies were after me. Can I sleep with you?”

She hasn’t asked that since before her first training bra; last year I think. I muttered “Muh huh.” and stumbled back to bed, with her in tow. One of the last things she did before diving safely under the covers with me and two dogs was block the bedroom door with a box fan. I grinned to myself thinking “We’re safe now. Because as we all know, zombies can’t climb over box fans.”

]]>https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/09/30/as-we-all-know/feed/2laurieredpenfieldsTerminal teenhttps://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/09/24/terminal-teen/
https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/09/24/terminal-teen/#respondWed, 24 Sep 2014 17:03:44 +0000http://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/?p=429My daughter will be thirteen next month and I’m worried about her. She’s being assaulted by hormones. Lately she’s wanted to be on her own; she’ll come home after school, close herself in her bedroom and I won’t see her until it’s time for bed. I can understand wanting to get away from the adults who nag (yes, I’m one of them) but I’m starting to feel like a roommate, rather than a mom.

She’s emotional, moody; she cries if we don’t have ice cream in the house. She both screams at and wants to cuddle with the dogs.

Yesterday I took her to the orthodontist to discuss getting her braces. When they said that braces will give her “perfect” teeth, I thought the kid would burst into tears. Or flames. Probably both. The idea of perfection bothers her, but I don’t know what impossibly perfect thing she’s afraid of. She may not know it herself.

I don’t remember being like this when I was a teen. Of course that was a long time ago, I don’t think dirt had been invented yet.

Our conversations consist of “get up” and “no, you can’t eat in your room.” After a week of this I silently celebrate when she wants to have a discussion with me. The other day she showed me a music video and I counted myself lucky that she wanted to share something that interests her. I didn’t care for the video, too much hair thrashing and butt shaking. I showed her a video of a Nina Simone song. It was so high class it wore opera gloves. She shrugged. There’s no pleasing her at this age.

]]>https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/09/24/terminal-teen/feed/0laurieredpenfieldsWhat a day…and I’m not tiredhttps://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/09/02/what-a-day-and-im-not-tired/
https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/09/02/what-a-day-and-im-not-tired/#respondTue, 02 Sep 2014 04:28:25 +0000http://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/09/02/what-a-day-and-im-not-tired/ I am on four or five different prescriptions for various conditions (hypothyroid, birth control, depression) and I screwed up this morning. I took a pill without looking at the label first. I wasn’t awake when I opened the bottle. Wasn’t fully conscious when I popped the pill in my mouth, but I was sure as hell awake when I read the bottle and realized I’d taken my daughters’ ADD medicine.

After debating whose doctor I should call, the pediatrician or my GP, I spoke with my doctor on call. He asked if I was a heart patient and what other meds I’m taking. He was probably thinking “Not another one.” I answered “No, I’m not and I’m taking this, that and the other thing.” I was ready to send my husband to the store for Epicac.

That was around seven this morning. It’s almost eleven thirty and I’m not tired. My sister told me once that sometimes parents take their kids’ ADD medicine because it acts like cocaine if you don’t have ADD. I wouldn’t know what that’s like. I don’t know if it’s even true. Right now I feel like I’ve drunk a whole pot of my parents’ mid-watch coffee. You know, the coffee that is so strong it stands on its own? Humming, good for another couple of hours. No Buddy Rich solo in my chest yet. I do know I couldn’t nap today, even though I wanted to. Nope, just laid there.

If today teaches me anything, it’s to read the labels.

]]>https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/09/02/what-a-day-and-im-not-tired/feed/0laurieredpenfieldsWhat I Did Today…https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/08/19/what-i-did-today/
https://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/08/19/what-i-did-today/#respondTue, 19 Aug 2014 17:24:22 +0000http://laurieredpenfields.wordpress.com/2014/08/19/what-i-did-today/I said “Oh, shit!” when I saw the question “are you disabled, such as having depression” when applying for a job on-line.

Didn’t expect that to happen.

Thoughts ran through my my head. What if I answer yes? Will they hire me? What if I get the job and then they change their minds? What if I get the job and depression hits me hard again?

Crap! How am I going to handle this?

One day at a time, I guess. Statistics claim that one in five people in the United States has depression. While at the grocery store last week I counted “one, two, three, four, he’s got it.” Out of twenty five people waiting in line (including kids) five of us had depression.